


young forever in the sun

by robotsdontcry



Series: the greatest [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Olympics, POV Alternating, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26086093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdontcry/pseuds/robotsdontcry
Summary: Life as professional volleyball idiots, in 2020 and beyond.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: the greatest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893340
Comments: 13
Kudos: 204





	young forever in the sun

**Author's Note:**

> guys.......love is real

Less than two weeks into quarantine, Tobio orders, “Stop doing that.”

“What?” Shouyou asks. He has his feet propped up over the arm of the couch, where he’s sprawled out on his stomach, scrolling through his phone. Tobio only blinks down at him, unimpressed. 

Within kissing distance, he’s not nearly as intimidating as the media makes him out to be, and Shouyou’s fingers itch to grab the front of his shirt and tug him closer. He imagines hooking an arm around the back of Tobio’s shoulders and pulling him onto the couch, kissing him long and slow to silence the flustered grumbling that will inevitably follow. Best of all, he can actually do those things now, and more—because the face frowning down at him belongs to none other than his boyfriend. 

_Boyfriend_. The word still registers as something from outer space but Shouyou likes the way it sounds in his head. Somehow he’s convinced that everything and nothing has changed since they started dating six months ago. The ground shifted a little but it felt right beneath his feet _,_ steadier than it had ever been. They’re still _them_ , after all, and this is only the newest addition to the ever-growing list of things they are to each other.

Then Tobio opens his mouth, and the urge disappears.

“Stop shoving your stinking feet everywhere. It smells like shit and if you keep doing it, I’m moving out.”

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “Why do I even like you,” he asks the ceiling.

* * *

Five months into quarantine, Yachi receives a call from Hinata at three in the morning, when she should’ve been asleep if she hadn’t lost track of time (again) working on her latest design. “Yachi, please help, this is urgent—”

Alarmed, she closes her laptop and sets it aside. Between long stretches of rambling, seventy percent of which registers to her tired ears as total nonsense, she manages to gather that Hinata and Kageyama are having relationship issues. _Again?_ she thinks. _Boys are so weird._ But she sighs and asks, “Do you want me to come over tomorrow?” A pause, then an emphatic _yes._ Hinata probably nodded before realizing Yachi couldn’t see him. “Okay, be there at noon. Now go to sleep.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Hinata sighs in relief.

The next morning, from the moment she wakes up to the rushed breakfast of coffee and toast to the thirty-minute drive to the city, Yachi can’t help but wonder what it is this time. Her mind, always ready for the apocalypse, supplies her with several possible scenarios. Did Kageyama finish the rest of Hinata’s orange juice? Did Hinata attempt to cut Kageyama’s hair? (She can already picture how that one will end.) Or have they, against all odds, reached the limits of their off-court relationship? Is this the obstacle that proves to be insurmountable for their nine-year, telepathic, incomprehensible-to-anyone-but-them bond?

A few hours later:

“Living with this guy,” Hinata declares, pointing an accusing finger at Kageyama, “is like living with a rock for a boyfriend. There are only three things in his brain: food, sleep, and volleyball.”

Kageyama glares. “Shut up. You’re literally just as bad.”

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more affectionate sometimes!”

Yachi sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

* * *

Do they love each other? Hate each other? The world will never know. Ask Hitoka Yachi, who’s had the privilege (and the curse) of knowing them for nine years, and she wouldn’t be able to tell you. The moment you think it could be love, they do something that manages to convince you it’s hate. Then you feel, well, stupid for thinking otherwise. 

On a good day, she decides finally, they might be able to tolerate each other. Maybe.

A few weeks before the Olympics, Kageyama and Hinata go public with their relationship, shocking half the world. The other half only raises an eyebrow. The announcement—less of an announcement, more of a photo that Hinata posts on Instagram captioned _my dumbass <3 _that has half a million likes and counting—comes after months of speculation by the media and particularly observant fans, and considering that the two of them were quarantined together, Yachi’s honestly surprised people didn’t catch on sooner. 

Yamaguchi says as much. “They’re never subtle about anything,” he remarks three weeks later, when he, Yachi, and Tsukishima are gathered around the coffee-stained table in Tsukishima’s dorm room watching Japan play Russia in the men’s volleyball quarterfinals.

It’s Tsukishima’s turn to host (the three of them rotate when Tsukishima doesn’t have away games) and once, he would’ve scolded them for making a mess on the table with the bentos they purchased from the convenience store down the street. Now he just leans forward with his arms crossed, watching with the most intensity out of them all.

“Bokuto-san can’t hit line shots today,” Tsukishima says finally, after a long and thoughtful silence. Yamaguchi snorts loudly. “Beer, anyone?”

“Yes, please,” Yachi says gratefully, eyes still fixed on the screen. Russia’s outside hitter sends a vicious spike over the net, and Sakusa barely manages to get it into the air. It’s not a perfect receive, but Kageyama’s positioned underneath the ball before Yachi can even blink. Ready to launch the sun into the sky, into its rightful place among the gods. For a moment the world holds its breath, or maybe that’s just Yachi. Hinata _soars,_ wings spread, silhouette eclipsing the stadium lights. Then he slams the ball down, and the crowd goes wild.

The timeless call-and-response, no words necessary _._ It’s like a meeting of souls, Yachi thinks. Or a chemical reaction bigger and brighter than the world will ever be ready for. What are the odds?

“Looks like the freak duo’s as freaky as ever,” Tsukishima says, entering the living room with three polished bottles.

“Watching them, it feels like high school was yesterday,” Yamaguchi adds.

Yachi can’t help but smile. “You’d never guess,” she says, leaning forward, “but a few months ago they were totally convinced they were at the end of their relationship. I actually had to come over to help them sort things out.”

Their souls might be woven from the same fabric of the stars but they’re human, first and foremost. Sometimes Yachi thinks the only thing they really need is to be reminded of that fact, to be dragged back down to earth from time to time. Words have never been their thing, but they’re trying. They’re growing. If there’s anything the two of them can do, Yachi knows, it’s keeping their promises.

“I’m surprised they haven’t strangled each other yet,” Tsukishima scoffs, but it’s fond, more than anything.

* * *

After the game, still high on the thrill of adrenaline and victory, Shouyou and Tobio are herded into doing interviews together. As the entire team gets swamped by cameras and microphones, Bokuto waggles his eyebrows at Shouyou before spotting Akaashi in the crowd and shoving aside reporters left and right to get to his boyfriend. Twenty feet away, Ushijima looks as impassive as ever, but Hoshiumi seems to be enjoying the spotlight, from the way he throws his head back and laughs at every single question he’s asked. 

One woman asks, “What’s it like to play together again?”

Tobio opens his mouth, but Shouyou beats him to it. “It’s weird,” he says. “It’s like he’s a completely different player every time I see him. He’s always surprising me.”

“Is it true that you’ve been keeping in touch all these years?”

Shouyou turns to look at his teammate-opponent-boyfriend-rival. Life partner. Yeah, that’s more like it. Their eyes meet at the exact same time. _Is that really a question?_ Tobio’s face asks, and Shouyou grins. _You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not._

Yes, there are times when Tobio may be more rock than human being, but he’s also the one who makes Shouyou feel most alive. Funny how some things work. The way Tobio grins at him now, flushed and fierce and proud—ah, that’s the one. Shouyou missed that smile. It’s always made him feel all things under the sun. 

Tobio clears his throat. Turns back to the reporter, whose existence Shouyou had completely forgotten for a moment. “Well, yeah,” he begins. The whole world, except for Shouyou, will miss the glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. Shouyou tucks it into his back pocket, along with all the other tiny details about Kageyama Tobio that belong to him and him alone. “How else am I supposed to let him know that I’m beating him at life?” 

Forget it. Shouyou barely manages to wait until the interview is over before stomping on Tobio’s foot. 

“That was unnecessary,” Tobio deadpans.

“You asked for it,” Shouyou retorts. Tobio glares back with equal intensity, cheeks bright, hair mussed, skin glistening with sweat. To placate him, Shouyou curls his fingers around his ears and angles his face towards his own. Watches his features soften, like clockwork. Oh, what a time to be alive.

* * *

Life’s calmer when Shouyou isn’t around, but then again, that’s nothing new to Kageyama Tobio. 

The night air feels cool and smells faintly of summer, water reflecting moonlight where it laps gently at his skin. He rests his forearms on smooth tile, tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Lets the languid calm wash over his whole body. He isn’t one for unnecessary indulgences, and the fame that comes with being a professional athlete is something he could live without, but this is the one luxury he can allow himself to enjoy.

Twenty stories above the busy streets of Rome, sitting in the pool on the roof of his high-rise apartment, Tobio breathes, and lets himself be. His mind is clear. For once it isn’t busy scrutinizing the mistakes he made in last week’s practice, or analyzing all the outcomes of their upcoming game against Brazil. A rare, rare moment of peace.

When his thoughts turn to Hinata Shouyou, as they invariably have done for the ten years that he’s known him, Tobio takes it in stride _._ He’s come to accept that some part of his brain will always be trying to categorize, to determine how Shouyou fits into the orderly chambers of his life. To describe who, exactly, Shouyou is to him. How do you describe someone who burst into your life without warning, took it upon himself to rearrange the dusty furniture and turn all the carpets upside-down? Who came and found you sitting alone on your throne and stayed, in spite of everything—or perhaps because of it? Who clung on and refused to let go, even as you resigned yourself to spending a lifetime alone? 

How can you even attempt to pinpoint the exact emotion you feel toward that person? Is it gratitude? Debt? Love?

Who Shouyou is to him. Who he is to Shouyou. All of it. Ten years and Tobio still can’t explain, in any of the interviews, how they came to be. Still can’t put a name to their relationship, to the inconceivable miracle of _them_. When the question inevitably comes up in his interviews, Shouyou always fumbles for words. _I don’t know. It just, kind of, happened? It was one of those things where you meet someone and you know they’re changing your life as it’s actually happening._

Maybe that’s how it should be, in the end.

Reluctantly, Tobio eases himself out of the water, hissing as the cold air makes contact with his bare skin. He’s toweling off and getting ready to head back to his room when his phone rings. The first thing he hears is, “We just landed. Your ads here are _so_ lame. Seriously.”

“Shut up. Where even _are_ you?”

“On the way to the hotel.” Tobio moves the phone away from his ear as Shouyou shouts something unintelligible, presumably in Portuguese, to a teammate. He sounds disproportionately excited. 

Right. Tobio realizes, belatedly, that this is Shouyou’s first time to Italy. Of course Shouyou would be excited. It takes Tobio a moment to realize that he’s been looking forward to this too. He’s been aching to play Shouyou again, of course, to find out who he’s become since the Olympics—but also to have some time together after nearly a year apart. Is that too much to ask? 

“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asks, fumbling in his pocket for the key and stepping through the sliding glass door. Inside, it’s warm.

“Hmm,” Shouyou says, which is how Tobio knows he’s not actually thinking that hard. Or at all. “Surprise me.”

Tobio has to bite back a grin. “Okay. Not my fault if you throw up later.”

“Deal.” There’s a faint chattering on the other end, then quiet. “See you soon, then.” Shouyou doesn’t hang up, though, and neither does Tobio. For a moment they stay on the line, listening to the sound of the other person’s breathing. 

Is it too much? They don’t _need_ each other, not in the traditional sense of the word. They have other people in their lives who can fill similar roles (but not the one). Tobio knows better than anyone that their relationship is built on something far deeper than convenience or proximity, and playing in different countries doesn’t change the fact that they will continue to meet and collide and remake each other, one electrifying match at a time. 

It’s stupid, he knows, to want this one moment just to themselves. But then again—half the joy of knowing Shouyou has been learning, and re-learning, how to want.

“I’m going to win, this time,” Shouyou says into the silence. _I love you_ , Tobio hears in his voice, all heat and light and sound.

“I’m going to win,” Tobio replies. _I love you, too._


End file.
